


Real

by butterflyslinky



Series: Alphabet One-Shots [18]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 05:25:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6361231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflyslinky/pseuds/butterflyslinky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is real. Love is pain. Pain is real. That is what Albus Dumbledore knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Real

**Author's Note:**

> Written September, 2010. Again, an idea that had been around for a while, or rather, two ideas that I combined into one. Also, my first time writing anything remotely sexual for this fandom. It was at this point that I realized my childhood was over, and "The Casual Vacancy" did not help with that. (Good book, though).

Funerals.  
  
Albus Dumbledore had always hated them, but he could never escape them. They were the most frequent event now, and because he honored so many of the people they were for, he had to go to all of them.  
  
This one was much like all the others. People were gathered around, talking quietly, crying for the loss, trying to comfort each other. Trying to make sense of what had happened.  
  
But what made this funeral even sadder was the fact that it had happened to save the world. If this funeral wasn’t happening, thousands more would be. Dumbledore knew that this would be the last funeral in the long string that had been scheduled in the last few months.  
  
He glanced around at the mourners, mostly school friends of the Potters. He noticed that Lily’s sister hadn’t bothered to come, and he hoped Harry was safe. The child was the best hope now. Dumbledore knew that this funeral wasn’t the end of it all.  
  
Also conspicuously absent was Sirius Black. Dumbledore forced himself not to get angry. Sirius had been James’s best friend, his main confident, almost a brother. And yet…  
  
 _Why do the people who love us always betray us?_  
  
Dumbledore glanced around again. All these people… it was amazing to find out how many of them had been informed of the funeral. But Remus had always been efficient when it came to organizing events. The young man might be a werewolf, and he sometimes had mood swings that sent all but his closest friends scurrying for cover, but Remus never faltered when it came to things like honoring his friends. It was only natural that Remus had been the one given the enormous task of arranging the Potters’ funeral.  
  
Dumbledore’s eyes fell on one solitary figure. This man wasn’t with the other mourners, the other friends. He stood alone, hooded, simply looking at the ground where Lily and James had been buried five minutes before. No one bothered him. No one even seemed to realize he was one of them, one of the people who had come to cry for them.  
  
Dumbledore made his way over to this figure. There were no tears on the sallow face, not like there had been two days before when he had received the news of Lily’s death. There was just a simple sadness in those black eyes and in the young face.  
  
“Are you all right, Severus?”  
  
Severus Snape turned and looked at Dumbledore. “Would you expect me to be?” he asked.  
  
“No,” Dumbledore answered. “But I thought I’d ask.” He paused, studying Severus carefully. “Are you better than you were last time?”  
  
“A bit,” Severus admitted. “At least I know she’s at peace now… with the man she chose…”  
  
There was silence for several minutes. Dumbledore wasn’t quite sure what to say. Severus was… well, heart-broken, and not for the first time.  
  
“Professor?” Severus asked suddenly.  
  
Dumbledore looked up. “Yes?” he asked.  
  
“Have you ever been in love?”  
  
Dumbledore was startled. No one had ever asked him that question before, and he didn’t want to think about the answer… but he couldn’t help it.  
  
*  
  
Seventeen-year-old Albus stepped into the clearing near Godric’s Hollow. No one else knew it was there. He and Gellert had set it up so no one would interrupt their plans.  
  
“You’re late, Albus.”  
  
Gellert spoke as if he didn’t care, as if he wasn’t interested, but Albus knew better. If Gellert mentioned something, it was guaranteed to be important.  
  
“Sorry,” Albus said. “I was studying. History. Why we have to be hidden like this.”  
  
“It hardly concerns us,” Gellert said carelessly. “We should not worry about the past. We must look to the future.” He looked deep into Albus’s eyes. “To our future.”  
  
Albus’s breath caught in his throat. Gellert always had this effect on him. He knew it was wrong, that no one would be able or willing to follow them if anyone ever found out… and that power meant so much, it was such a perfect idea… but Gellert mattered more, not just as a friend and a partner, but as something else…  
  
“What does our future include?” Albus asked tentatively. He knew it was stupid. Only in his wildest fancies did anything ever happen.  
  
“It includes us,” Gellert said. “Only us.”  
  
Us… it was such a good word. It meant both of them, always and forever.  
  
“We will rule the world,” Gellert continued. “And we will be together.”  
  
Albus looked up. “What do you mean, together?”  
  
Gellert seemed to hesitate. That was unusual. Gellert always knew what to say next, what to do in any situation. But the moment passed, and the next thing Albus knew, his best friend was kissing him in such a way that could never be ignored or forgotten.  
  
After a moment, or maybe an age, they broke apart. Gellert stared at Albus, a hungry, burning expression in his eyes.  
  
“Together,” Gellert said. “Us. One. Perfect.” His speech was usually so proper, but as always, when he got excited, he tended to slip into short, jerky phrases and occasionally revert back to German. It was one thing that Albus loved the most.  
  
“Perfect,” Albus repeated. There was no stopping it. Within seconds, Albus was flat on his back with Gellert kissing him everywhere his lips could reach, his hands groping everywhere else. And Albus kissed back, pressed his body against Gellert’s, and didn’t want to let go, and wouldn’t have let go for anything. He wouldn’t have let go for the entire world. What was political power compared to this? All these weeks of longing… and now it was coming true, and it felt so right even though no one would ever accept it, would ever understand…  
  
It may have been hours, it may have been years, it may have been only a few minutes of making love. Time was immaterial while it was happening. All that mattered was that it was happening. But after that timeless bubble, after the wonderful moment was over, Albus began to wonder. He didn’t feel guilt. He was not ashamed or regretful, but he wondered. “Is this real?” he asked.  
  
Gellert was half-asleep, but he heard the question. A slight smile played around his lips. “Yes,” he answered. “This is real. And don’t forget.”  
  
“Is it wrong?”  
  
Gellert opened his eyes. “No,” he said. “Of course not. It’s only wrong to all of them out there. And they don’t matter.”  
  
“But…”  
  
Gellert rolled over and caught Albus’s wrist. “Look at me,” Gellert ordered. Albus did so—as if he could ever stop looking! “In this place,” Gellert continued, gesturing around them at the trees and grass. “They don’t matter. They don’t exist. Your brother, your sister, the Muggles, the wars, the Hallows… they don’t exist here. They aren’t real. We are real. This…” he pulled Albus’s hand up to his chest. “This is real. Nothing else. No one else. Just us.”  
  
Albus felt the pounding of Gellert’s heart and knew his own heart pounded the same way. Gellert was right. This was real.  
  
*  
  
Dumbledore tried not to think of that moment. It only made it worse. He couldn’t think of Gellert without thinking of Arianna and Aberforth and everything else. Gellert only brought back memories of another funeral.  
  
It hadn’t been real. That moment had been the least real moment of the summer. Dumbledore wondered, although he could never be certain, if Grindelwald had ever felt any real affection, or if he had used Albus to try and get what he wanted.  
  
And yet…  
  
“Yes,” Dumbledore answered, looking back at Severus. “I have been in love. And it hurt me just as much.”  
  
Severus nodded and Dumbledore knew.  
  
Love was real.  
  
Love was pain.  
  
Pain was real.


End file.
